


Keep The Weapons Down (keep the wounded safe)

by calerine



Series: Lead Feet in Deep Water [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea's cunning triumphs Mycroft's, Books, Declarations Of Love, F/M, Het, Office, Sex, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:40:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calerine/pseuds/calerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft is surprised twice in a day, which is a feat even for Anthea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep The Weapons Down (keep the wounded safe)

“Sir, the car is waiting.” Anthea stands at the door to Mycroft’s office, her Blackberry cradled in her hands.

Mycroft nods and crosses the room for his jacket.

“I am assuming the representative for Norway was not compromised any further,” Mycroft inclines his head questioningly.

She glances up, quirks an eyebrow and places a hand lightly on his arm.

“Full marks as always, Sir.” She can tell from the slight tilt of Mycroft’s lips; that he knows she has something up her sleeve, but he cannot tell what. A clever skill, Anthea recognises, gained after spending long periods of time with a Holmes, is the knowledge of how to best conceal one’s self.

This is why Mycroft does not expect what comes next.

“You have a smudge on your cheek, Sir,” Anthea reaches up, as if to help.

However, Mycroft finds himself being kissed furiously and –

and – slender hands followed by slender wrists creep inappropriately near skin.

“It seems to be lipstick,” Mycroft murmurs fiercely, the words slipping and sliding between the crush of lips. He feels it, dangerously acute, when Anthea stretches out taut, her spine curving like a cat after its sunbath. He wants control of some sort, but today is not one of the days that Anthea is going to give in.

The door lock clicks, sending a signal to the receptionist that Mycroft Holmes is currently ‘Engaged’.

“Sir,” Anthea say, her tone is calm and leveled. (Certainly not reflective of her heartbeat against Mycroft’s neck.) Mycroft’s breath hitches involuntarily, his cock jumps in his pants.

“ _Sir_ ,” Anthea half-growls, this time from the very base of her throat. That smooth, tender expanse of skin, Anthea – _his_ Anthea – tips her head backwards for one fleeting moment and Mycroft is about to –

But she is too quick.

Before Mycroft even reacts, she has turned to mouthing his neck instead. His collarbones, Adam’s apple, open-mouthed kisses, furious, heated – desperately.

Mycroft has her against his bookshelf, against the tomes of dusty old volumes. He reaches to unhook her bra, his large palms cupping her ribs, under her skin, under the swell of her breasts. She swats his hands away, keeps him from reaching it, gasping urgently into his mouth.

Aha. And it all makes sense. Well, if this is the way she wants to play.

“Not going to plan?” Mycroft teases. With that, he uses a hand to pin Anthea's wrists above them, and then cold fingers sneak under the hem of laces and metal to tug ( _tease_ ) at her nipple.

Anthea’s legs almost give way then. Her hips buck in Mycroft’s, pressing into/at/on him. He moans, one long low note and finds the clasp of her bra.

“Play nice now, my dear,” Mycroft releases Anthea’s hands.

“Mycroft,” her eyes are impenetrable, endless. Mycroft pants (quick sharp breaths). He rubs her thumbs against her two peaks (chocolate brown). This is how he loves her. This is how he will remember her in the sinister days of dread and wailing and a city set alight. His Anthea. His, his, all his. _Mine_.

She mewls, moans, murmurs litanies into his skin. Her hands in his hair, Mycroft can imagine it just by kissing her, just by running his tongue along her teeth, just by dipping into the shadowed hollows of her body – those dark hands in thick ginger strands.

“ _Mine_ ,” Mycroft does not realize has said it out loud, with his tongue on her smooth skin, against the rise and dip of her breasts.

“Yours,” Anthea agrees at the very edge of a groan, arching into him. “All _yours_.”

She draws his trousers down, all careful movements, gentle. She pulls him out.

“Your damn three-piece suits.” She laughs, giggling into the softness of Mycroft’s neck. “Just too ma _ny_ – “

And Mycroft, in one swift movement, lifts her skirt, then presses two fingers deep into her (secret spaces, hidden crevices – no one knows, no one will _ever_ know).

Anthea jerks, gasps – she clings onto him, legs locking around his waist – breathes

“ – buttons.”

Mycroft pulls out his fingers and steadies her on his hips.

“Mycroft.” She pleads, with her eyes, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. This is the only time she pleads, not when the barrel of a gun is smashed viciously into Mycroft’s head, not when a horde (skin peeling, eyes bulging) pulls at her. This is the only time she begs, under him, with her pupils blown wide, with her lips, with her heartbeat, with his name whispered like a prayer.

So Mycroft kisses her, sweetly, so carefully. (What else is he to do?)

“I love you,” he grits out, protective, and enters her. She twists herself into him.

Anthea’s smile is hidden swallowed by Mycroft’s lips until it is turned into a gasp and his hips stutter against hers. His hands press flower-shaped bruises into her bones.

Their rhythm picks up slowly, fluid thrusts. Then Anthea has her fingers tangled in Mycroft’s hair, gripping so hard there are sparks behind his eyelids.

“Everything, Mycroft. _All_ – yours -”

Mycroft holds Anthea, and when she comes (shuddering, exhaling, loosening), he thrusts into her desperately still, touching her with his mouth.

“I would burn empires for you.”

Mycroft pushes into her depths, pushes home.

*

Later. Later.

Afterwards, as Mycroft clasps Anthea’s bra back on, as his hands work on the buttons of her blouse, and as she presses the creases from his vest, she will pull him to herself.

And for the second time in a day, Mycroft will be taken by surprise.

But then, he will feel her lips warm on the skin under his collar.

(She will sigh. “I love you too” she will say, and it will be the sound of her burying secrets into his skin.)

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this chapter is from the same song as the first chapter. I didn't intend to continue the previous chapter, but. You know, I get carried away easily. Sooo. PWP, and as-of-now-non-existant-but-to-be-created plot :D! I expect the 'chapters' of this fic will more resemble ficlets than anything else. And will be written as my flights of fancy take me. Take this series with a grain of salt, or a whole bucket full, because I'm not taking it very seriously either. Apologies.


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